


Present and Unaccounted For

by cindergal



Series: Collateral Damage [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindergal/pseuds/cindergal
Summary: Sequel to Collateral Damage





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Importing some of my old fic from LJ. This fic was originally completed in 2/2007.

The bell rang once. Twice. Or had it been ringing for much longer than that? At first Buffy thought she was still asleep. Rain pounded against the roof above her head, muffling the sound and adding to the dream-like sensation. And if she was dreaming of something as mundane as a doorbell, her nights were getting to be just as dull as her days had become. She shut her eyes tightly and willed herself to dream of him. Soft lips, smooth skin, rough hands…

The bell rang again.

She sat up and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Dawn must've forgotten her key. Again. Dawn forgetting her key, of all things, was a constant source of amusement for both of them - except when Buffy was sound asleep. And except when it was after curfew, like now. Groggy and bleary-eyed, she made her way down the stairs and pulled open the door of their flat, prepared to give her sister the standard lecture number twenty-three on responsibility.

"Evenin' Slayer."

Buffy blinked slowly, taking him in. Bit down on the inside of her lip to make sure she was awake. Ow. He looked just the same. Hair a little longer, roots showing a bit. Maybe a bit thinner than he'd been, though it was hard to tell with the coat on. He’d ducked under the small overhang which barely sheltered their stoop, rain drizzling down behind him. He was soaked to the skin, water running in rivulets down the sealskin of his coat as he pushed his wet hair back off his face. His eyes were so blue.

"Gonna invite me in outta the rain?"

She stared back at him, surprised at how calm she felt.

"No."

His head inclined towards her, inquisitive as a cat, searching her face. Trying to read her. She tried her best to look unfazed, but he had the gall to look amused. "Aren't you glad to see me, pet?"

"I would've been, say, six months ago. Now, not so much." Her anger bubbled to the surface, surprising yet somehow comforting. How dare he stand there on her doorstep like he’d just gone out for beer and cigarettes, after he’d disappeared for so long without a word?

"You’ve a right to be mad.”

She could barely speak, she was so furious. "Gee, thanks."

"Buffy…” He shuffled a step closer, just inches from the doorway now, and it was all she could do not to launch herself into his arms. “I’ve so much to tell you."

"Let me guess. You were transported to the world without phones."

He reached his hand out slowly towards her, until it bumped up against the invisible barrier between them. He kept it there, as if he were pressing his palm against a pane of glass.

"Missed you, love" he said. “So much.”

His voice was soft and sad and full of longing, and she had to swallow hard past the lump in her throat. As if under its own power, her hand reached out for him. She pressed her palm to his while the magic that kept them apart hummed, an electrical charge between them.

"I missed you too." The weight of all the time that had passed, waiting and worrying, was sitting on her heart, threatening to crush her. She snatched her hand away. "Do you have any idea what you've put me through?"

"Buffy, just let me…” Just let him what? Into her home? Into her life? Into her heart?

"No! You go to hell!" She slammed the door in his face, then turned and leaned back against it for support, taking in deep breaths to calm herself down.

"Well," Dawn said, "that was dramatic." She stood on the landing in her pajamas and a terry cloth robe, giving Buffy her best 'I can't believe you're related to me' look. Rushing down the stairs, long braid bouncing behind her, she pushed Buffy unceremoniously out of the way and flung open the door. "Spike! Get in here!"

Spike still stood where Buffy had left him, and he gave her an apologetic shrug as Dawn grabbed his hand and pulled him over the threshold.

"Oh my God, it's really you!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. Spike laughed and picked her up off the ground for a few moments as she squealed happily, kicking her feet. "And you're soaked!" she said, looking down at her own now-damp clothing. "Take off your coat. Buffy, go get him a towel."

Dazedly, Buffy walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel off a shelf, tossing it in Spike’s direction.

"Much obliged, Slayer," he said, obviously enjoying this. Buffy really wanted to hit him.

"Buffy is totally justified in her anger, by the way," Dawn said.

Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, we get Oprah here,” she explained. “And I’ll be mad at you later, too - but right now I'm just _so_ happy to see you!" She threaded her arm through his and steered him toward the sofa. "There will be a later, right? You're all souled up and sticking around, now?"

"All souled up," Spike said, looking over Dawn's head at Buffy. "Whether I stick around or not is up to big sis over there."

"Ah, well, I'd better let you get to pleading your case then. Because she looks really pissed off this time."

"I sussed that out, yeah."

Dawn gave Spike another squeeze. “I’m only going upstairs if you promise you’re not going to bug out on us again.”

Spike crossed two fingers over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to…uh, well, I promise I’ll let you know where I am at all times. How's that?”

“Okay. And I hope that’s here,” Dawn stage whispered, before giving him a peck on the cheek. She gave the same to Buffy before bounding up the stairs. "Don't be too hard on him," she said.

Buffy just shook her head. The two of them, ganging up on her again. First Dawn, with her uncanny resemblance to a happy puppy. And then Spike, sitting there with his wet hair all mussed from the towel and his shirt clinging to his body. Unfair advantage. It didn’t matter. She was the Slayer, dammit. Well, a slayer. With a small ‘s,’ now.

"I'm going back to bed," she said, starting for the stairs. "You're not invited."

Spike stood as she passed, arms shooting out to grab her and pull her back against him.

"You're not goin' anywhere. Not ‘til I've had my say."

Exasperated, she tried to pull away, and he tightened his grip. She could still throw him off if she wanted to, but she was surprised at how difficult he was making it. He was stronger now. And it seemed like that wasn’t the only thing that was different about him.

"Gee, Spike,” she asked turning her head to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Have you been working out?"

"Good of you to notice. You gonna sit and listen, now?"

Her voice hardened. “And what if I’m not? Why the hell should I listen to you after all this time? I’ve gotten used to you not being here. I had to. I thought you were dead, Spike. And I gave up on ever seeing you again a long time ago.”

The pain hit her then. The loneliness. It was all she could do not to turn and cling to him, and sob in his arms, so she held herself stiffly, refusing to give an inch. What would he do? Would he try to kiss her? Or back off, afraid he’d gone too far? He didn’t do either. He loosened his grip, and bent his head to speak directly in her ear.

“Then I’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that, until you’re ready to listen. Because you may have given up on me, on us. But I never did. And I never will.”

And then his hands were gone, and he stepped away; she nearly stumbled forward, already feeling the loss of contact. “You’ve been gone for months,” she said, whirling around to face him. “Without a single word.”

“Had a reason. Seemed like a good one at the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“I looked for you,” she whispered. “Every place I could think of.”

He nodded. “Know you did. Wasn’t the time, pet.”

“And now it is? Because _you’ve_ decided?”

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, giving her that – yes - soulful gaze.

Was there really any possibility that she wouldn’t hear him out? Buffy sighed and crossed slowly to the sofa, sitting down and curling her legs up underneath her. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it to her chest.

"Okay, Spike.” She patted the place next to her. “Tell me a story."


	2. Chapter 2

_Uganda, five months earlier_

He crouched in the darkness on the outskirts of the village, an arsenal of smells assaulting his nose: Burning brush. Roasting meat. Human sweat. And blood. Spike shifted into game face, his vision sharpening. He watched as people went about their evening routines, moving between the half-dozen or so fires that dotted the village. Cooking. Eating. Living.

There was nothing for him, here. The demon he’d come all this way to see had made sure of that. There were no second chances for Spike - or had he already used his up? He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. He didn’t even know how long he’d been here. His rage simmered under the surface, clouding his thoughts. After the demon had laughed in his face, he’d prowled the outskirts of this tiny village, night after night. But why? Sometimes he thought he was trying to protect them. And sometimes...

Last night he followed, from a distance, a young boy stupid enough to be caught out alone after dark. The boy couldn’t see Spike, but he must have sensed him somehow, and started to run. Stupid kid. There were a lot of things waiting out in the darkness for a choice little morsel like him. Lions and tigers and all manner of things that went bump in the night. And they loved it when you ran. In point of fact, it had taken every ounce of control Spike had left not to give chase. Oh, he’d talked big about being able to control his demon, but it had been a lot easier to do with Buffy in his bed, and a ready supply of blood in the fridge. Now he was in the middle of the fucking African bush hunting animals to survive, just another predator in the darkness.

And why, exactly? What was he waiting for? A sign from the heavens, maybe, in glowing bloody neon? He gazed up at the unfamiliar sky, but he didn’t know which star to follow - none of them were where they were supposed to be.

He sensed the girl an instant before her machete came slicing through the air, nearly invisible in the inky blackness. He moved at the last moment, a fraction of an inch making all the difference. Her blade whistled past his ear and struck the tree behind him. And now she was without a weapon, save her hands and her brain. Adrenaline surged through his body.

Slayer

Spike grinned. Laughed out loud. How fucking perfect was this? The girl eyed him warily, then leapt up and grabbed a tree branch, swinging gracefully through the air. Both feet hit him square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. He rolled out of the way just before the tree branch she’d broken off came in contact with his chest. So she could think on her feet; good girl. She was on those feet in an instant, but he swept them out from under her before she could do any more damage. Or so he thought. She’d lost her make-shift stake, but she somersaulted back up and placed a solid round house kick to his head. Size six boot or bare foot, it hurt just the same, he found out. He saw stars, and then the slayer’s face hovering above him, her hands around his neck. She squeezed. Hard.

She was young and inexperienced, and he would have never even been in this position if he were on top of his game. Still, older and wiser and all that rot. With the last of his strength he broke her hold, bucked her off, and rolled to his feet. She tried for another round house kick, but he caught her foot this time, and twisted. She tried to regain her balance, and almost succeeded. Instead, she fell sideways, her head slamming against the tree, dazing her for a moment. Spike had her backed up against the trunk, hands pinned before she knew what hit her. He looked into huge, terrified brown eyes, but her nostrils flared defiantly, and she spat out what could only be interpreted as the Lugandan version of “Fuck you.” Spike laughed again. This - this was what he’d been waiting for. This was what he was made for.

Her heartbeat pounded, fast and loud in his head. She couldn’t be more than fifteen, tall and gangly, and her scent was a heady mix of girl sweat, slayer blood, and a liberal dose of fear. Spike was nearly dizzy from it. He pressed closer, fangs grazing her neck, and she closed her eyes tight. Not yet, not yet. With his free hand he brushed her long, dark braids from her face, and she grimaced in disgust. He didn’t know many words in her language, but he knew a few: Monster. Animal.

Evil, soulless thing.

No. No he fucking WAS NOT.

What the hell was he doing? She nearly toppled over when he suddenly released her, and stepped away. She recovered quickly though, scrambling for another piece of wood, spinning and crouching into a battle stance. But Spike forced himself to remain relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides as he very deliberately let his game face slip away.

“Not a monster!” he said, pointing a finger at her. “At least, don’t wanna be. Choose not to be, in point of fact. Not anymore.” The girl’s brow knitted in confusion. “I’m a fuckin’ hero! I was. Saved the whole sodding world not too long ago. And it wasn’t my fault the bloody soul went astray. Came all the way here - again - half-way ‘round the sodding world to get it back, didn’t I? Not my fault that demon neighbor of yours has a no refunds/no exchanges policy, either.” In fact, he’d barely managed to escape the cave with his head still attached. “So now what? Am I s’posed to go back to her like this? A failure? Half a man? I screw up again, I’ll break that girl’s heart, and it’s been pasted back together too many times already! Not gonna be the cause of that.”

He was pacing now, and the slayer didn’t even seem afraid of him anymore. She looked puzzled more than anything else. She continued to stare at him, still holding her stake, but she’d dropped her hand to her side. Spike sighed. “You haven’t understood a single bloody word I’ve said, have you?” And he was a vampire with a fucking existential crisis. What a fucking joke.

“Actually,” said a voice from the darkness, “Dembe speaks rather good English. She’s a fine student - just not accustomed to conversing with...your kind.” A large, black man emerged from the shadows, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile. “They do not usually last long enough for that. Hello, munnange. I did not think we would meet again.”

Munnange. Friend.

Spike stared at the man in confusion, until a slide show of images began flashing through his mind. The hot African sun hurting his eyes, scorching his skin. Strong brown hands. A brightly colored blanket dousing the flames. The memories of his first time in Africa were fuzzy, but now he remembered the smiling eyes, and the kind voice.

Spike smiled back. “Lutalo. Didn’t think I’d be runnin’ into you again, either.

“The world is full of strange connections.”

Spike frowned. “You her watcher, then?” He shook his head, snorting out a laugh. “I shoulda known. You were just gonna stand by and let me kill her?”

“She is a slayer. I will not always be here to rescue her.” He grinned. “And as you can see, she is not dead.”

“Yeah. Well, she’s gonna be a good one, take it from me. She’s strong. Resourceful. Reminds me a bit of another slayer I know.”

“Is she a good one?” Dembe asked shyly.

“The best there is.”

“Your praise is very kind. But Dembe should not become overconfident.” Lutalo gave the girl a pointed look. “You could have easily killed her tonight, had you chosen to do so.”

The girl hung her head, and Lutalo spoke to her again in Lugandan. She turned without a word, and trotted off, disappearing into the darkness.

“Bit rough on her, weren’t you?”

“Not as rough as you were.”

Spike laughed. “Point taken.”

Lutalo sat down on a large rock, and Spike sat next to him. “I would not have guessed you capable of that, last we met.” Spike noticed that he held a wooden stake loosely in his hands.

“Yeah, I guess I must’ve been pretty pathetic, huh?"

"As harmless as kitten."

Spike bristled. "Yeah? Well, wasn’t quite myself back then." He sighed. "Or, maybe it’s now that I’m not myself. Hard to say.”

Lutalo nodded. “Ah. The missing soul.”

“Yeah. His royal scaliness threw me out on my ear.”

“You are one of the lucky ones, then.”

“Don’t feel so lucky.”

Lutalo peered at him curiously. “I am very surprised you want your soul back. You were full of regret, before. Regret, and pain.”

Spike shrugged. "Yeah, I know. But it was taken without my permission, that's why I want it back. That, and...”

“And?” He smiled conspiratorially. “This is the part where we speak of the girl, yes?”

Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t want to hurt her again.”

Lutalo contemplated his stake for a moment, rolling it between his palms. “My people, we have a saying: it is not what you are called, but what you answer to.”

The watcher's words took a moment to sink in. Then a slow grin slid across Spike’s face. Soul or not, he'd be what he damn well wanted to be. Or try his damndest, at least. After all, he’d never been what anyone expected. Why start now? Spike stuck his hand out, and Lutalo transferred the stake into his other hand before giving Spike a firm handshake.

“Nice to see you again, mate.” Spike stood up. “But it’s time for me to go." What would he answer to? It was time find out.

“Thank you for not killing my slayer,” Lutalo said good naturedly. But he was waiting, Spike realized, for Spike to leave first. Lutalo's trust only went so far. Smart man.

Spike could feel the watcher’s eyes on him as he strode off into the night.

“Omukisa omulungi,” Lutalo called out to him.

“Thanks mate,” Spike said. “Good luck to you, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

She'd been so drawn in by the sound of his voice - a sound she'd missed more than she could say in the last few months - that she found herself disappointed when he stopped speaking. Apparently, she was supposed to say something now. Spike just sat there, waiting. Well, he wasn't just sitting there, exactly. He was fidgeting, Spike-like. And watching her with those stupid, hopeful, (pretty), eyes of his. Was she supposed to be impressed that he hadn't killed the African slayer, even without a soul or a chip? Okay, she was, but he didn't have to know that. He didn't deserve to know that. Not yet, at least. Not after what he'd put her through.

"Okay. So, you met your Obi Wan Swahili or whatever. What happened? Did you get lost somewhere between here and Africa?" Buffy hugged her pillow tighter and tried not to feel bad when his shoulders dropped in disappointment.

Spike shook his head. "Spent a few weeks in Greece, Spain. Needed some time to..."

"Oh, I get it. You spent the summer backpacking through Europe. Is there a slide show?"

He closed his eyes, and she could almost hear him counting to ten before he opened them again. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Wasn't exactly a vacation." She could hear the frustration in his voice. "Wasn't supposed to take so long, either."

"You just lost track of time? Is that it? Forgot people were wondering if you were, oh, dusty or alive?" She knew she was being harsh, but it was either that or collapse into tears. And that was so not going to happen. She stared defiantly into his eyes, waiting for the apologies to start. But instead, she saw his own eyes flash gold, like summer lightening across a blue sky.

That was the only warning she got before he grabbed the pillow out of her hands and threw it across the room, both his hands coming down on the back of the sofa on either side of her head, trapping her between his arms. He'd gone from a respectful distance to in her face in half a second, and she was suddenly reminded of what a dangerous man he could be. His face was so close to hers that she couldn't even focus on him properly. Buffy found herself shrinking back into the sofa cushions as he spoke.

"I've bloody well had enough of your attitude, pet," he said, speaking barely above a whisper. "You want me to think you were pining away for me here all this time? You say you looked for me, but you coulda found me if you'd really wanted to, and we both know it. Willow coulda snapped her fingers and located little ol' me in a heartbeat, yeah? And Rupert, with all his contacts, he woulda been able to track me down if you'd asked him. But I bet you didn't ask 'em to find me, did you?"

She tried to look away, but he took her chin in his hand and turned her head back toward him. "Yeah. That's what I thought. And I bet none of 'em volunteered, either. They were more than happy to let me stay lost. And so were you, pet."

Buffy pushed at his chest, hard, and he fell backwards, landing on his ass on the worn Oriental rug that she'd picked up in a little antique shop around the corner.

Because it reminded her of him.

She stood over him, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. He thought he knew so much. He didn't know anything. Spike looked at up at her from the floor and gave her a smirk, the kind that always made her want to wipe it right off his face.

"Fucking hell, Buffy. Even Angel found me."

***

_Barcelona, six weeks earlier_

The fight was taking too bloody long. He tried to get a look at the girl from the corner of his eye, but the vamp he was fighting was too good. Agile and quick. And not so dumb, apparently, as he took advantage of Spike's moment of distraction to plant his hard heeled boot into Spike's gut and send him flying. Hello, solar plexus. The pain radiated out from his stomach and into his limbs, and he couldn't move for a moment.

The vamp leapt lightly onto a fire escape, laughing at Spike, who was still on his ass in the filthy alleyway. Who had thought it a good idea to turn a sodding Flamenco dancer, that's what Spike wanted to know. And the bloke had died with his boots on, apparently. Well, let him get his giggles at ol' Spike's expense. He wasn't going to be around long to enjoy it. Spike didn't bother to get up, he just plucked a spare stake from inside his coat, rose to his knees and sent a missile toward the vamp's heart. "Save the last dance for me, amigo." The vamp's mouth opened in surprise, just before he exploded into dust.

"Doesn't pay to gloat," Spike said, struggling to his feet. "Trust me on that one."

"Huh. Seems you have learned something after all these years."

Spike turned to find Angel standing there at the mouth of the alley, backlit by a streetlamp and casting a long shadow on the dark and dirty pavement. Always with the fucking drama.

"Figures," Spike said, hurrying over to the girl. "Show up just when I don't need you." He placed his fingers against her wrist, already knowing it was too late. She lay pale and motionless, her white blouse soaked with blood and a vacant look in her eyes. Dancing vamp had turned her own stake against her.

"Fuck!" Spike kicked the dumpster he'd propped her up against. "Dammit to hell!"

"You can't save all of them."

"Just wanted to save this one, tonight."

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner." Angel stepped forward, looking down solemnly at the girl. "Slayer?"

"Yeah. Good one, too. Took out half a dozen 'fore she got it." Spike flipped open his phone and dialed 112 to report a murder, so someone would come and pick her up. He took one last look down at the body on the ground. "Sorry, love." Angel followed him as he headed out of the alley.

"Love? That why you haven't called Buffy?"

Spike shook his head. "Are you daft?"

Angel shrugged. "Just asking. You've been known to have a thing for slayers."

"An' I still do. One beautiful yet impossible blonde, currently residing in jolly ol' England." Spike stopped in front of a bar that he frequented. "You know I'm a one slayer vamp, mate," he said, before opening the door. The two of them walked down a few steps into the cool, dark, dank of the bar where they were met by a cloud of smoke and classic rock on the jukebox. Spike motioned to the bartender, who sat two whiskeys down in front of them.

"Last I checked this wasn't England. So what the fuck are you still doing here, Spike?"

Spike threw back his drink, and before his glass hit the scarred wood of the bar the bartender was there to fill it again.

"Thought I went over this last time you were here. Know you're a bit slow, but..."

"Yeah, I know. You're testing yourself. How long before you take the final?"

Spike shrugged. "Just wanna be sure."

"You're saving slayers - or trying to - instead of killing them. Seems like you've graduated, to me." Angel tossed back his own drink, pushing his glass forward for another. "And you know how much I hate to say that."

Spike chuckled. A compliment from Angel was rare indeed. "I'm almost ready. Just need a few more..."

Angel cut him off with a wave of his hand. "That's what you said last time." He stared straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, where his whiskey glass floated in mid-air. "What is it, really?"

Spike finished off another shot. The whiskey burned in his throat and in his gut. "I miss it," he said, finally. "The soul. Know that seems odd to you, but I do. I can do this. Know I can. But I'm always going to be missing..." He pressed his fist against his chest. "This... piece. Can't help thinkin' she'll miss it, too. She'll try. We'll both try. But what if it's not the same? What if she can't love me the same? What if I can't love her the same?"

Angel swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, staring down into it like it held the secret to the universe. "You disappoint me, Spike."

"So what else is new?" Spike felt that familiar twinge in his chest that always came with Angel's disapproval.

Angel finished his drink, and turned his glass upside down on the bar. "No, you don't get it. I mean, when have you ever been afraid to take a chance? I seem to remember some ridiculous but impassioned speech about you being love's bitch, and proud of it. But here you are, hiding away from the person who means the most of you." He turned his head slowly to look at Spike. "Or does she?"

"Of course she does! You know that."

"Then stop being a fucking coward, Spike."

If Angel hadn't of been right, Spike would have staked him for that comment. As it was, he held a fistful of the pillock's expensive leather jacket in each hand as he ordered him to take it back.

Angel gazed at him mildly. "Prove to me you're not, and I will."

Spike released him and took his phone out of his coat pocket, dialing Buffy's number by heart. His fingers were shaking, but damn if he was going to let Angel be right about this. He got her machine, and was opening his mouth to leave a message when Angel reached over and snapped the phone shut.

Spike stared him incredulously. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"There's one more thing. Had to make sure you were ready, first. Just in case it doesn't work out."

Spike fought the urge to smash his glass into Angel's ample forehead. "What in fuck's name are you on about?"

"You may want another drink, first."

"Angelus!"

Angel smiled. "Wesley found a way to get your soul back."


	4. Chapter 4

_Los Angeles, 4 weeks earlier_

Wesley glanced down at his dusty old book again, and then pulled an intricately carved bowl out of a battered cardboard box, carefully unwinding the bubble wrap that had protected it. Anubian bowl, he'd told Spike. Required for this spell that would help return his soul. It seemed to Spike that something this important should come in more respectable packaging.

"You get that off eBay or what?"

"No," Wesley said, turning the bowl over in his hands. "But it's come a long way, and at great cost. You have Angel to thank for that."

"Yeah, I know, and Mr. Moneybags will never let me forget it, either. So let's just get on with it already."

Wesley set the bowl down on the desk and turned a page in the book. "You can still change your mind," he said.

"Why? I look nervous to you?" Spike asked.

Wesley paused and considered the question. "Yes, you do."

"Yeah. Well. It's the magic. Don't like it. Never have. So don't go turnin' me into a toad or somethin'."

"Oh, if this spell goes wrong, toads will be the least of your worries. Not that I'm sure it will even work. To my knowledge, this spell hasn't been performed in hundreds of years."

Spike fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. "Thanks, mate. Way to relax your subject."

Wes plucked the cigarette from his fingers. "No smoking during the spell, please. And are you sure it's just the magic that's bothering you? I can't imagine having one's soul returned is a pleasant experience."

"It's not." God, he really wanted that cigarette. "Look, can we stop jabberin' now and just get on with it?" Spike didn't mean to be impatient. After all, the bloke had flown all the way to Spain just to perform this spell. He wondered if the whole thing would be any less agonizing the second time around.

"I just want you to be aware of the risks before we begin, especially since I don't completely understand why you're doing this. In my admittedly limited experience, vampires are usually glad to be rid of their souls, and rather resistant to their return."

"I see what you're gettin' at. Know about what happened with Angelus. But don't go makin' me the hero of this piece. I'm just bloody stubborn is all. Want back what's mine."

Wes turned another page. "Is this about Buffy? It seemed to me she was rather fond of you the way you are."

"Maybe. You're pretty fucking nosy, aren't you? Can't you just do the damn spell?"

Wesley looked up from his book and smiled coolly. "Since, as you've just pointed out, I'm the one - and the only one, I might add - who will do the 'damn' spell, perhaps you could indulge my curiosity. You spent months in Europe, helping people, without a soul. Or so you claim. That interests me - if it's true."

Fucking watchers. "Yes, it's the truth. I'm sure Angel had people spyin' on me, anyway, so ask him if you don't believe me. But not killin' people was the easy part." Spike scratched the back of his head. He wasn't sure if he could explain this right. "Look, one night, came upon this woman bein' attacked just after dark. It was an easy one for me. The vamp was just a youngster, out on his own, and I dusted him in two seconds. No fuss, no muss. Turns out the woman was pregnant, too. Was real scared, but mostly okay. Barely had a scratch. I told her to go home and put some disinfectant on it. No big deal, really. But this woman, she was just so bloody grateful. Had tears in her eyes, thankin' me for what I did for her. Wanted to give me money. Told me what a hero I was, savin' her and her baby."

"You must have felt very good, hearing that," Wes said.

"No, mate, that's the thing. I felt nothin'. Nothin' at all."

Wesley just looked at him for a long moment. "Let's get on with the spell then, shall we?"

 

***

He stopped the story there. She didn't need to hear the nitty gritty details on how no, it wasn't really any easier the second time around. Spike stared up at Buffy from his position on the floor. He hadn't bothered to get up, as considering the look she was giving him, he'd likely end up right back where he was, anyhow.

"You were right before," she finally said, inspecting her nails. "I could've looked harder. You want to know why I didn't? Because there were only two reasons I could think of that you would stay away. Either you were dead, which I didn't want to know, or you'd decided to stay soul-free and..."

"Evil."

She looked up at him. "Yeah. More with the Buffy denial. I get that you wanted to prove something to yourself. I just don't understand why you couldn't do that with me around. I guess you thought I'd do more harm than good."

The defeat in her voice was almost physically painful to him. "Buffy, no. It's just, there's some things a man has to figure out on his own."

"On your own? What about Angel? And Wesley? They could help you, but not me?"

Spike ran a hand through his hair. Why'd she have to pick now to use bloody logic on him? "That's different."

"Maybe I'm just stupid then," she said softly, "but I still don't get it. Make me understand, Spike. Why couldn't you tell me where you were?"

"Because." Spike sighed. "One word from you, and I would've come runnin' back. I'm weak when it comes to you, love, but at least I know it. An' I had to find out if I could really do it. On my own. You know, with all my boasts to the contrary, wasn't at all sure I could."

"I would've helped you! Isn't that what people in love do? Help each other?" The tears ran freely down her cheeks now, and she brushed them impatiently away. "You don't have any faith in me at all, do you?"

He got to his feet. "Dammit, Buffy! This had sod all to do with you. Had to do with me. Can't have you as my keeper, you hear? Would never work that way! If I couldn't be my own man, then I couldn't be yours, either. Don't you see?" He knelt in front of her and took both of her hands in his. "Tell me you understand."

Buffy continued to gaze at him, sphinx-like, and he was sure that he was going to be out on his ear momentarily. Finally, she raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "You mean, the universe does not revolve around me?"

Spike grinned. Maybe this wasn't a lost cause after all. "Oh, my little corner does, believe me. If it didn't, would've been able to tell you what I was doin'."

She pulled her hands from his and placed them on his shoulders. "I understand now why you thought you had to stay away from me. But you still had no right to do that. To let me think you were dead, or worse, and then try to blame it on me not looking hard enough for you?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

She sighed, caressng his cheek with her soft, warm hand. "I am so glad to see you. I am." Her eyes hardened again. "But I just can't do this right now. You need to leave now." She stood up and crossed over to the landing, picking up his coat.

She'd gone inside herself again, and it was even harder to take after the brief thawing out he'd just witnessed. God, he'd really buggered this up. He wondered if they'd ever stop hurting each other.

"I'll be back," he said, taking the coat from her.

She gave him a small smile. "I know you will."

Spike shrugged on his coat as he stepped out from under her stoop and into the still pouring rain. He made it a block before he stopped, turning his face up to the sky. The raindrops fell hard, stinging his skin. He turned quickly when he heard it, someone coming up fast behind him.

It was Buffy, bare feet slapping on the sidewalk. Her nightclothes were soaked through and clinging to her body, and she pulled up a few feet away from him.

"So, I was watching you through the window, and I was thinking about how mad I should be. I mean, you can't do this, Spike! You can't just waltz in after so long and expect everything to be fine between us!"

"I know."

"It's just not right! I mean, what did you think, that I was just sitting around for months, waiting for you?"

"No...I didn't think that at all."

"I have a life you know! I'm a slayer! I've done important work! And...men! Lots of men! Interested in me! If I'd wanted to, I could have had a date every night you were gone."

"I've no doubt, Slayer."

Her hair hung limply around her face, and she pushed it back angrily. "I have a right to be mad at you. Furious, as a matter of fact."

"I think we've established that, yeah."

"And you have no right to stand there and look so...so..."

Spike wasn't sure what to do, so he did nothing. They stood there, staring at each other as the rain pounded around them.

And then Buffy started to laugh. "Oh, screw it," she said, before launching herself into his arms.

Spike stumbled back a step before regaining his footing and pulling her tight. Her lips were cool and wet, but her tongue was warm as it tangled with his. It was an incredible feeling, kissing her again after so long. Until she began shivering, violently. It was hard to kiss someone whose teeth were chattering. Not to mention potentially dangerous.

"Gotta get you back inside," he said, picking her up in his arms and wrapping his coat around her as best he could. He started back towards her flat, walking as quickly as he could given the fact that he had a wet, practically naked Buffy pressed up against him.

"Oh God, hurry."

He wasn't sure if that was because she wanted him, or if she just wanted to get warm and dry, but in either case he stepped up his pace. Spike climbed the steps to their apartment and turned the door knob. Locked. He set Buffy down carefully and looked her over. Her wet camisole and pajama bottoms left literally nothing to the imagination. Not that he minded, but there was one small complication.

"Doesn't appear you're hiding a key in there anywhere, love."

She rubbed her arms briskly. "Oh, d...damn."

"Don't you have one under a flower part or something?" He lifted up the door mat. Nothing.

"I...t...took it b...back. I wanted to teach Dawn a l...lesson."

"Right."

"Can't you b...break in?"

"With what?" He patted his pockets. "I got nothin' but a pack of soggy smokes." He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Way I see it, we've got but one alternative."

"Oh, yay." She reached out and jabbed at the doorbell with her index finger.

Dawn tried really hard not to laugh when she opened the door. Well, somewhat hard. In any case, she wasn't successful.

"Don't ask," Buffy said, a puddle forming around her in the entryway.

Dawn held her hands up. "Not a word. Though I should point out that I'd get a lecture on responsibility if I'd forgotten my key. Not to mention the whole practically naked thing."

"Dawn..." Buffy gave her a warning look and wrapped Spike's coat tighter around her.

"Best go to bed, Nibblet."

"I'm going, I'm going!" She scampered up the stairs, and they could hear her laughing hysterically as she closed the door to her room.

Buffy removed his dripping coat and pulled a throw from the sofa, but she was still shivering. "Christ, slayer. You're going to catch your death. Let's get you warmed up." He followed behind as she made her way up the stairs to the bath.

He reached into the shower and turned on the tap before helping Buffy strip out of her wet clothes. "Get in, already!" he said, laughing as she tried to pull him in with her, boots and all. "I'll be right there." His clothes come off in record time.

She was still cool to the touch when he joined her under the shower. His own skin felt even colder, of course, but slowly he felt himself begin to warm to the temperature of the water. His hands traveled over her shoulders and down her arms, but he waited for her to take things further. He was more than content to watch for now, as she closed her eyes and leaned back into the warm spray. He took in the arch of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist before she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"You are truly a sight for these sore eyes," he said.

She'd completely let the anger go, and now he saw only desire. He couldn't take his eyes off her lower lip, as her soft, pink tongue darted out to lick off a droplet of water. The palms of her hands pressed against his chest and slid down his body, making him the one to shiver this time, before she slid them around his waist and stepped closer. He couldn't contain himself any longer, couldn't help crushing his lips against hers and pressing her back against the cool, slick tile.

They fit together as perfectly as ever, but the sensations he felt were both comfortingly familiar and unexpectedly, profoundly new. Her legs went around his waist, and she broke their kiss briefly to look down into his eyes before slowly, deliberately reaching between them and pulling him inside. He tried to hold her gaze, but he was lost in her, and had to close his eyes to keep from shattering into a million pieces.

They couldn't stop kissing. Drying each other off, stumbling towards Buffy's bedroom as quietly as they could manage, finally falling across her bed, their lips were apart for barely seconds. She groaned in protest when he finally tore himself away, but as his mouth moved down her body, those groans turned to moans of pleasure.

"Does it feel different?" she asked him afterwards, as if reading his mind.

She couldn't mean what he thought she meant, so he feigned ignorance.

"Does what, love?"

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. "Making love with a soul. Does it feel different than...without one?"

"Does it feel different for you, me havin' a soul?" It came out of his mouth before he had time to decide whether he really want to know the answer.

She continued to look at him intently, gaze never wavering. "It felt different after I fell in love with you. But that happened a long time ago." She smiled gently. "And I think you're avoiding the question."

He wasn't, really. He just didn't know how to explain it without sounding like an idiot. He'd loved her so much, and for so long, that he'd never imagined the soul would make any difference in how he felt about her. But the truth was, he did feel different. Or more precisely, he felt more, in every way, including physically. He would find a way to tell her. He wanted to share that with her.

But not just now.

"Different?" he said, pulling her on top of him. "Maybe. Not sure. Think we need to try it again."

Buffy laughed as she kissed him, and he felt his soul soar again. "Again? Weren't you paying attention before?"

"You had me a bit distracted, love. I'll take mental notes this time."

Buffy murmured in his ear something about thinking up new and creative ways to distract him again, which was just what he'd been hoping.

Soul or not, maybe there was still a little evil left in him, after all.


End file.
